And then we’re falling, falling out of the sky.
We crash on to the ground.
Imagine landing with a parachute that collapses all over you, your insides jumping up into your head as you hit the wet earth, while you can’t see anything because of the giant tent you’re under — a giant tent of oily feathers and claws that yanks itself free and flaps back off into the sky.
Every bit of me is aching. They pulled my hair, they tore my clothes, they pinched my skin, but they got me here. Brushing feathers off my face, and grit out of my streaming eyes, and untangling myself from my scarf, I look around.
Until I went to Spectrum Hall, I’d never even left Premium. And I never left the Hall till now.
I have never seen anywhere like this before.
It certainly isn’t anything like home. There’s a massive pond, more like a lake, with only tiny spots of sun able to squeeze through the leaves above, making the water glitter. Silvery trees line the edge, with ferns and reeds clustered around their base. Not trees I’ve ever seen before. Everything looks all … old. Proper old, in fact. And — I don’t want to say the word, but there’s no one here to tease me for saying it — it looks beautiful.
There are no beeping doors, no shouts in the Yard and no spluttering Doctor. I can hear my own thoughts bouncing off the logs and the still surface of the water. They aren’t all good ones. I look at the pigeons quietly resting in the treetops above my head, their heads tucked into their wings.
*Where are we? What are we doing here?*
They don’t answer. Instead the General clambers out of my jacket pocket and down my leg on to the ground.
*The first part of our plan is successfully achieved,* he announces, and then, as he darts under the nearest rock — *With flying colours, I might add. By the Order of Cockroach Merit, I am now awarding myself a long afternoon nap.*
Fine, I think to myself — suit yourself. I’ve got other things to worry about.
Firstly, I stink. That tunnel was not good. There are dirty splodges all over my red anorak, making me look like a ladybird, my trackie bottoms are soaking and my striped scarf is stiff with encrusted yuck.
The sun is out though. I look at the lake.
I can’t help but wonder what else might be in there, and remember the pictures we all watched on the news of dead fish floating in the water, piling up in rotten heaps on the banks of rivers. I don’t want to get the red-eye. But this isn’t a river. This is a lake, hidden behind trees, far from anywhere. The animals went years ago. It must be safe by now, whatever Facto say.
Yanking my jacket and trousers off, I step along the boggy shore, splashing down into the shallows with my clothes bundled in my arms, trying not to slip or step on a sharp rock.
The water looks dark. I start to wade in quickly, taking deep breaths to fight off the cold.
The further I go in, the darker and deeper it gets.
I look down at my bare feet, only just visible through the murk, and start to imagine dead fish rising suddenly to the top in an explosion of bubbles, their lifeless red eyes rolling at me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the pigeons are watching intently. I’ve probably never washed myself so quick, scooping up handfuls of water as fast as I can over my head, relieved there aren’t dozens of diseased fish in each one, before giving my clothes a quick soak and wading noisily back to the shore.
The birds are curious. *What made you hurry?*
Clutching my dripping clothes in front of me, I say, *I thought … I thought there might be infected fish in there.*
*But there are no fish left. Not in this lake, not anywhere.*
They sound so sad. Then the white pigeon hops down from his tree, strutting about on pink claws, his little head bobbing up and down. In daylight I can now see that the feathers on his scalp are skew-whiff, like he just got out of pigeon-bed.
*Yeah,* he sneers, *no fish in this cake, stupid.*
The others coo, hiding him from me with their wings, like he embarrasses them — but he’s right. I do feel stupid. Naked and stupid.
*Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, instead of laughing at me? You brought me all the way out here. Why don’t you do something useful? Like take me home!*
But before I even reach the end of my sentence, I discover I’m talking to nobody. They’ve all clapped off into the air. There’s a distant flapping, and then nothing.
*General?* I say, but the only reply I get is some loud snores coming from under a rock.
As the birds all disappear I notice how knackered I am. I badly want to lie down. Anywhere would do right now.
Just by the edge of the water there’s a large rock with a flat top. Its size is ideal for drying wet clothes on, and a shaft of sunlight makes it look as white as a sheet. Sunlight like I never saw at the Hall.
I’ve never slept outside before. I just tell myself that there are no animals left, so it will be fine. Varmints can’t give you the virus yet, and besides — it’s almost comfortable. It’s definitely very warm and very quiet.
I can feel my eyes slowly closing, and I’m just drifting off to sleep when something makes me sit bolt upright. Wide-eyed, I look around, but the water is as calm and steady as it was before. There are no floating swollen fish. There are only the pigeons, who have returned and are sitting on the tufts of grass around the big white boulder, pecking about beneath it. They make me feel safe for a moment, before I remember that they brought me here rather than taking me home.
*You snore more than your guard did, soldier,* says a snarky voice in my lap.
*Like you can talk!* I want to say back, but I don’t. Instead I brush the General away without even replying, and am about to lie down again when a rock tumbles and crashes out of the trees into the bog.
Not a big rock.
But a rock just big enough to get knocked by something moving through the silver trees. A rock followed by a little avalanche of pebbles hissing down through the ferns in between.
There’s someone in the forest. Someone — or something — heading our way.
Chapter 9
The pigeons flurry up into the branches and the General scurries under my boulder while I roll off it, grabbing my clothes. Crouching down, I peer over the top.
The intruder suddenly breaks through the undergrowth and emerges into the light. It’s not a person. It’s not meant to exist. It’s meant to be dead. Only it’s here, close enough for me to see its blinking eyes and four tall unsteady legs. The fur on its back, the soft ears — it can’t be, except it is.
An animal. A living, breathing one.
Whatever he is, he’s certainly not a very big one. In fact, he seems more nervous than we are, looking warily about before trotting further down the slope towards the water’s edge. He stumbles in the swamp and topples over on to his side with a soft splash. Then he hauls himself up and continues before coming to a jerky stop about a hundred metres away from us. He sniffs the air and twitches his ears, like he’s waiting.
The first other living creature I have ever seen for real that doesn’t live under a rock or feed off our rubbish. The General emerges from under his rock and perches on top of it.
*Look at him, General!* I whisper, pointing at the animal by the lake. *A baby horse!*
*Not quite, soldier,* he hisses. *It’s a deer, and it’s a she.*
Soon another one joins the lonely limping she-deer, edging its way around the water’s edge. Before long the shores of the lake are alive with deer, a shuffling, manky line of furry red-brown backs. I can’t see any red eyes, there is no wind and they are quite far away, but I put my hand over my mouth just in case they are infected. As if they can tell, they stiffen as one, looking up — and I dive back down behind the rock. They’re not looking at me though, they’re looking at the other creatures crashing towards us through the trees. My first impulse is to run, but I can’t take my eyes off the new arrivals. A whole family, it looks like, with black and white striped heads and pale pink snouts, blinking in the bright light.